Dear Present, Chance Meeting
Green and black feet penetrate a dark abyss. Dainty, insignificant in comparison to the surrounding pitch black, their movements are practically controlled, harmoniously attuned to the adjacent opposites descending motion in a perfect ballet of synchrony. Touching down onto the ventilation ducts metal plating, they create an effective counterbalance for steadying the lowering figures weight.
It coils its torso around the shafts entranceway, twisting the upper body slightly in order to grant itself more comfortable spacing between its hands for increased support and maneuverability. Fingers grip the edge with crushing force, but make no sound as shoulders press themselves gently against the vertical ducting further increasing support as the figure initializes its lower segments movement into the cool, lightless tunnel below. With the two limbs shifted into the correct positioning, the forms remaining luminescent frame wrapped in raven strands of lengthy hair releases the pressure being delicately exerted onto the surrounding metal plating and equally gingerly descends into the inky blackness.
No sound is made as the digits extricate themselves from the thresholds curb and after the figure is engulfed by the pitch black depths.
Nothing more can be seen in the passageway other than a quick, green flicker and then fading glow.
Shego walks in.
Drakken screams.
She rolls her eyes. Hers is the sudden growing belief that the true face of the world's most devious, underhanded, cunning and scheming masterminds is nothing more than a whimpering, fidgety, garrulous and, of all things, sensitive mama's boy. That odd thought pattern brings up some small wonders for her, because for all she could know now after having all her disillusioned fantasies crushed into fecal matter, he could actually still keep in touch with his mother. Her actually considering the possibility that a villain who has numerously attempted to conquer the planet still having a need for his mother, just shows how much her standards for the super villain hierarchy has dropped, as well as her respect for them.
Though, maybe she should have expected as much with them being insane enough to try overtaking the world in the first place.
He blinks at the pale woman standing at the entrance to his laboratory. She taps her foot impatiently and the sound is enough to unscramble his mind momentarily. “Oh, it's, uhh…just you Shego,” he states lamely. His is the growing belief that it's going to become necessary to get used to seeing a female inside his base outside of Kim Possible. The fact that she's the former lone super heroine of Go City, now turned thief and finally criminal bodyguard/co-conspirator for him and his dastardly plans of world conquest isn't exactly helping him believe the reality lobe of his brain.
Shego stares at her employer and sighs. He's been standing there like a statue for ten seconds longer than she would like. “Doctor D, wake up!” she yells from her perch at the arching door frame leading into the laboratory.
Drakken stiffens, paling slightly at the uncanny resemblance and insinuating deja vu, but soon relaxes when he remembers who it actually is standing in the middle of his base within attack range but not attacking. It's his new bodyguard, his spy, his agent, hireling and hench…woman. Really needing to get accustomed indeed.
“Oh right, did you get it?”
She waves her hand, “I got it, I got it.” And then walks over to the table the blue skinned scientist stationed himself at, passing on the disk she stole to him, “Don't know why you want it, but I got it.”
He responds by grabbing it forcefully out of her hands, “My plan will reveal itself in due course Shego…”
She just sighs as the formerly snarling and possibly even threatening expression breaks out into a glossy eyed, kid-in-a-candy-store vibe as he gloats, all the while playing with the disk like a child. “What you say, Dr. D.”
A lithe figure carefully feels its way through the dark ventilation duct. Even with the green tinted glow illuminating the path (the one that even allows it to become possible to use the metallic shafting as an infiltration route), the tunnel being large enough to make the figure unable to see all of the path at once prevents any use of quick motions.
Its chest oscillates while it opens its mouth intentionally, controlling the following inaudible breath as the forward motions persist.
The form eventually comes to a rest over a metal grating leading into a large, equally dark room. Silently, it's right hand moves closer to the square's top most corner as the other hand pushes its fingers through the flaps in the air passageway for the possible event of the screen loosening without consent. Soon after barely a flicker of concentration from the figure, the right hands index finger lights up in a brilliantly green glow; it stretches the digit for a moment to calm down any trembling after the elongated pause to tense and position the rest of its form… Taking a calming breath, the form slowly and gently pushes the digit into the corner…and barely suppresses a flinch that would have alerted anyone in the vicinity to it's presence when the improvised cutting tool discharges an unexpected searing sound. What the hell? Tin foil?
Unused to such base, but surprisingly effective methods for repressing stealth infiltration even after penetrating some higher class security facilities, the figure feels it's irritation spark at how needlessly tedious the operation just became. But, the interest it holds in the mission doesn't wane. It has never been one known to ever do things half way, and even if that wasn't the case, its curiosity has never been driven to the point of taking action like it is now. That has to stand for something from its point of view.
Besides.
Shego craves challenges.
Her eyelids are heavy, muscle cramps blanket her body as bruises clustered around her forearms and shins restrict chances for any decent traveling speed. Unwanted exhaustion filters through the quickly dissipating adrenaline shield, while perspiration traces her grim, tightly jut jawline. No one would even notice it for far more attention would be given to the lengthy, bleeding lacerations arrayed haphazardly across her body.
Shego staggers, beaten legs carrying her into the confines of an alleyway, drearier than normal with the added opaque coating of the night sky. Positive that her figure is completely covered in shadows, she collapses against the cement structure surrounding the thin, veiled passageway, unable to steady her sore body with her own strength any longer.
Ignoring her inflamed lungs, a ragged breath tears itself from her throat. What…the…fuck!
This was not the first time Shego had found herself inexplicably in an hour long chase, with her as the mouse. The chances for any target of hers having any number of unaccountable defenses that, evidently, would raise awareness to the crisis she being caused by her always varied drastically from her targets, be it agency to bank, vise versa and so forth. This had tapered off eventually, with the growth of her experience and skill, but it still happened, albeit rarely. The predicament she was in now, however, had nothing to do with breaking and entering.
Clawed gloves are taken off as she lurches, still unable to keep proper balance, and soon lowers herself to the cement floor against the ashen wall with the guidance of her bare hands. Her breathing still raw and coarse, Shego wearily eyes the multitudes of wounds littering the bottom half of her body, oozing the thick, slightly green tinted red life blood. Then she pockets the gloves in her ankle pouch.
She should have been expecting Global Justice to be watching. Who else would suddenly send an agent out to an island in the middle of nowhere after a respected scientist has the schematics to a lifelong work of his stolen? They weren't an unknown judicatory faction to any criminal worth his or her salt. With all of the agents spread across the planet and the sheer mass quantity of them around, they were a force to be reckoned with even by a military powers standard.
A pulsating sensation in her throat forces her to part her lips, and a groan reverberates. She feels like shit right now. Back sore, legs unable to support weight anymore, upper body muscles over extended. Not to mention the physical exhaustion now setting in….it's all making her feel like she just tangoed with a rhinoceros.
Her head rolls limply, swiveling forward lazily, making itself fall into a loose hanging position framed with ebony locks. She coughs roughly after an irregular, hacking breath and glares. She needs to find a place she can stay the night. Grimy alleyways and chance for hypothermia aside, her hair was a mess. Her hair does not stay messy. Ever.
The conviction she holds on the matter doesn't reach her strained limbs, however.
Groaning with the realization she would need to wait, she thrashes her head around pathetically. This is Not how I wanted to spend my first real day on the job, she thinks despairingly. Waiting for her injuries to heal to a tolerable point wouldn't take long of course with her keen acumen on suffering and enhanced healing capabilities–Shego understands pain. How to dish it out, how to take it, how to ignore it…right now it was more of the fact that she was in this much pain that it hit her, and the impact was more of a surprised wonderment than a bruised indignation. The irritation was there, but the more she thought back on it, the more…the more…well, the more of something she felt. In the end, though, she knew the reasoning was because someone actually stood up to her on a leveled playing field.
Kim Possible could fight her evenly, and, conceivably, could maybe even win.
Yeah, right. Like That's ever going to happen, she thinks, usual boasting in place. However, Shego's interest has already been piqued the second that revelation processed. Her rarely touched intrigue has been drawn, an intrigue outdoing the normal curiosity she characterizes with by miles.
She has been ordained as a ‘Devil's Fruit’, one that should never be approached. Tantalizing to the eyes, tempting to the touch, but never to be actively pursued. A woman whose proven her worth dozens of times over as a thief, as a combatant, as a mercenary, as an efficacious business woman and a connoisseur in the villainy branch. She's one that captures attention with more than just her figure. Her employers love her, she's stolen them jewels, blackmail material, money, and multitudes of varying items. Her rivals hate her, she's taken their contracts, their jobs, and any chances they have of being hired, away. The villains beg for her, for her help, her services, her loyalty and allegiance. Her counterparts–law and justice—they want her in jail, out of their way, it's why she's been ruled as the most wanted woman in the world. And along with all of these accomplishment Her list of truly challenging challenges has dwindled to almost nothing. She has humiliated those she's wanted to, she has conquered systems, facilities, maximum security prisons and banks with the latest in protection. People she’s previously called equals in combat are nothing to her now.
She has become the best. Been told so, too. The title was one she flaunted, but it had made her life grow increasingly flat, repetitious, stale…it had built it into a routine. A routine with nothing that kept her boredom at bay, leaving her unsatisfied and…well, bored.
There wasn't much difficult for her anymore.
Now, though…
She winces. Grr…fucking bullet wounds. Shego's temper flares and she roughly pushes herself up, suppressing all of the groans and moans her body tries forcing her mouth to enact. Her body wants more rest. She wants something else.
Shego hobbles upwards, supporting her still unsteady legs with the wall behind her. In her mind, she's already planning out the course of actions she'll be taking after making her way to safety. Her contract already binds her into freeing Doctor Drakken from his current imprisonment, yet other than that there wasn't much she would need to do outside of the usual precautions after a sullied heist or dirty getaway. Global Justice wouldn't linger around for long anyways. A half day of hiding, getting a little something to drink, maybe buy a magazine…yep, every thing's going to be a piece of cake.
She smirks. Shego steadily fastens herself against the alleyway entrances corner, detaching herself from the weariness she's feeling and checks, double checks, then triple checks the darkened surroundings for agents that might be stalking up and down the quiet suburbia. Fixing her torn, blood soaked leotard, she quietly sneaks her way through the empty streets.
Her path set, she knows her destination.
Shadow’s eclipse her.
Successive anxious breaths are drawn as a glowing hand pushes forward through the obscuring darkness and grips the knob.
Shego sighs, taking a small step toward the goal she has been aiming for since entering the building. Wringing her fingers around the handle, ever so gently as to not wake up the being she knows is lying on the other side of the barrier, she slowly slides her other hand against the edge of the door. Nodding in self affirmation, she gently twists and pulls open the entranceway.
She slips in through the thin opening she makes and closes the door behind her. Crouching down in order to lower her center of gravity and the body weight exerted onto the wooden floorboards, she moves a step into the room. All of this is done quickly, quietly and time efficiently. Like she's always done.
Concentration is center point when she closes her eyes, reaches deep inside of herself and searches for the feeling that’s always been there. She finds it and pulls. A flicker, she blinks, her eyes glow. Meticulously, she analyzes the living quarters around her with the temporarily augmented vision, memorizing any obstructions size and position, examining for any signs of the same security she encountered outside the window to the room, and setting the best pathway she could for the goal. Knowledge of the room set in mind, she powers down her orbs.
Shego's body rearranges, opening up into a wider crouching stance for better equilibrium and she cautiously prowls over to the bedside. To this escapades ambition.
Green eyes spot the figure laying underneath the covers.
Her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as her body lengthens from its crouch into a domineering pose over the furnishing, or more precisely, the form lying upon it. I beat your house Possible, she thinks as a reminder to herself more so than as a silent gloat to her new adversary. She skirts her hand across the cottony covers and her fingers tingle with the fleecy texture to it. She never had gotten on thinking what she would do when the finally destination would be reached. Should she kill her? No. The answer comes unsurprisingly quickly to Shego, even when she considers who it is she's staring at, and who she's working for currently. She’s a thief, not an assassin. Besides it's not in the contract.
She hesitates only momentarily, before running a pale green finger through a red mane. Should she drug her so she would never get in her employers way again? It takes a while longer for this one, but the answer remains firm in mind. No. She wonders whether she should just go along with the plan she had devised earlier. To her, it was by far the most rewarding and she needed to do little outside of having fun, but…she’s getting that feeling again.
She hates that feeling more than anything else.
Shego suddenly feels herself become very anxious. The cold, dead, creeping feeling was rippling itself across her spine as she stares longer down at the serene face jutting out of the woolly covers. Simultaneously, it occurs to her the longer her olive orbs pass over the young face, younger than her own, that she's being ridiculous. She has always fancied herself a realist, one that often relied on gut feelings, but a realist nonetheless. This mindset eventually wins over the childlike fear she was feeling of the ominous unknown, and she ponders on what she was thinking believing the stupid instinct, she has always actually liked the unknown, what's the problem with the unknown? Pfft. Get a grip on yourself…
Smirking again, she detaches her hand from the silky red mane and caresses the face so alike to her own from the past gently. She tosses the previous thoughts away, instead choosing to stare at a person that's left her intrigued, a person that only days ago was able to match fisticuffs (if only because I was playing around, she adds) with her, something that hasn't happened at all for the past year. Shego had to admit, it was a rush thats been missing and there was something…something else there, that she just couldn't see.
Before she can think more, the red haired figure orients herself, moaning slightly as a cuddle buddy is pulled close. Shego almost laughs, but restrains herself, settling for a condescending smile in its stead. Already, she knows that this girl is going to be fun to mess around with, her entire countenance is screaming ‘Anny’ to her. A little girl that'll do anything to impress, anything to fit in, anything so she can be called a good girl and have all her friends and family laugh and hug and sing the fucking Kumbayaa, her vacant stare turns into a heated glare as these thoughts consummate.
I think it's time, she decides, scowling, that I left. But first…A peck. “I'm going to say this now Pumpkin. We're going to be having a lot of fun when we meet again.”
Shego smiles, as she lifts her features from Kim Possible's. It's not a smile of happiness, or a gesture that shows appreciation, peace of mind, or love, not even mild like. It's a cruel smile in many ways, and she knows this. The smile is one that harbors hatred, conceals obscene amusement, and holds a promise to another, far more serene visage, which has yet to confirm and utter a yes.
It's the promise for pain, for battles and combat, disdain yet respect.
The promise of a challenge.